


Death of Aquarius

by brokenAmphora



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 06:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4596477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenAmphora/pseuds/brokenAmphora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cronus fights Lord English.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death of Aquarius

_Night follows day as life flitters away_  
_On the quest for the ultimate high_  
_Ride for tomorrow, we beg steal or borrow_  
_To be where the earth meets the skies_

This was premeditated well beyond your epiphanic decision. Redemption was the colorful, embroidered fabric gracing the otherwise lifeless mannequin that stood in the corner of your room your whole life, and you had stitched it by hand.

Now, it was time to wear those garments.

You had made your decision without telling anyone. It was going to be your little secret, and by the time everyone found out, it would be impossible to stop you.

You made your plans. You waited patiently, drawing the angles, banking on a victory.

All your life you had loved and lost more times than you can count, but this one wouldn’t slip from your hands without a fight. You HAD to win this one. Then everyone would be sorry that they had ever doubted you. They would bow down to you and you would no longer try to fit into their world; they would be trying to fit into yours. You would not make it easy for them.

You left early that night, making damn sure no one else would see you and interfere with your victory. After all, your redemption was at stake.

= = = = = = =

It's nearly impossible to predict where Lord English will be at any given point in time. Not so much with a few people to help you, of course. But you were alone.

The skills granted you by the game and advice of the elder alternate Saturn brought you to the distant mountains of your planet, mined into barren monochrome and robbed of all golden glory. Boot clacks echoed throughout the crevices of the old mining area. You froze, suddenly aware of your presence in such an empty place, then proceeded with softer, careful steps muffled by the gentle rustle of a cloak held close from the sudden chill.

Meandering pathways, charred wood and molten, rusted metal chewed into the mountainside once red hot were now wet with mist in the space between the average ambient temperature of the planet and...whatever laid down here. You weren't sure. Saturn had told you it was a void where space and time meant little to nothing and would aid you. Unlike him, you lacked the hundreds of sweeps of experience he had. He had crammed the basics of time travel and manipulation into you within too small a span of time so you could have something resembling a chance, meanwhile he was rewriting his involvement in hundreds of different timelines simultaneously through a language he wrote...and he expected you to know all of this. He said he would be on your side. He expected you to win. And so did you.

The truth is...you know nothing, and you are alone and terrified.

You reached the end of the main pathway and followed the steep, jagged stairs down to an even thinner and more intricate network of crevices, hiding holes, and protrusions of various sizes. You didn't take the time to scout them out from above, figuring they would be empty for the most part.

When you reached the bottom of the steps, you stood in anticipation of Lord English's arrival, hesitant to take any steps further into the open space for fear that he would appear. The last thing you would need is for Lord English to drop on you.

You did as Saturn told you and masked yourself behind a rock on the upper levels with the scythe you were given. One simple turn of the weapon and you were cloaked by a miniature void. A void alone is easier to detect when surrounded by matter, but in a place closest to void without actually being a void, there is little to no relativity and thus many pitfalls. You look like just another pitfall to the untrained eye.

Now, all you had to do was wait.

= = = = = = =

Before you could get too lost in your thoughts, you heard the bassline hum that Saturn had taught you to listen for. It heralds the arrival of a time traveler.

A flash and a bang echoed in the mountains and shook the thin fabric of space-time. From the light stepped one green leg covered in pulsing veins, followed by another, a golden peg leg clacking on the rough rock. The beast revealed himself further, a tall, muscular form in tattered white pants and an even greener overcoat with an acid trip for trim.

Lord English had arrived.

You peeked from your hiding place behind the rocks. He hadn't immediately detected you; this was a good sign, or you'd be running for your life right now.

"Alright Cronus, think, what are you going to do first." You thought to yourself in your makeshift void while Lord English stood in place, scanning his surroundings for the first sign of life.

When the shifting pool ball eyes met yours, you gasped and darted your head back behind the rocks, hoping to yourself that he hadn't seen you. It was bad enough you were chattering from cold and fear, but you felt like he had seen right through your spell.

It felt like cowardice to even think of running back for help. Your co-players would help you out of obligation, but they would give you no end of hell for wimping out after all the big talk about beating him. The possibility began to sink in that you may not make it out alive. You would rather die knowing you tried than live and not have tried at all.

You turned your head back towards Lord English. He was now pacing, as if waiting for you to reveal yourself. He knew you were here. Perhaps not exactly where you were hiding, but he knew. He began upturning rocks, destroying the first available hiding places. You wondered how long you could safely wait before he found yours.

You thought back to your plans. Did you have any? You had spells, you had home world advantage, but only to a point. You had time manipulation on your side. Above all, you had hope of redemption. It seemed empty now that you were here, laying fearful eyes on the beast for the first time, having only heard of him through tales the sprites and angels told you. You breathed hard. It was useless trying to plan anything at this point beyond staying alive.

Your knees shook and you wobbled as you stood, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. You thought of Beforus, of your friends...your real friends, not your co-players. You thought of the moirail you had, before the world was destroyed. You thought of the places you'd be right now if it weren't for this stupid game. You brushed your negative thoughts aside, looking towards the future you would create for yourself, a world none but yours and filled with people finally giving you the respect you deserve, what you would be warranted for your victory. You thought of all you have to live for and love. You slowly release the breath you'd been holding through chapped black lips.

It was time.

You firmly tapped your scythe to the ground, releasing the makeshift void with a brief 'VOMF'. Dust kicked up around your feet and on the bottom of your cloak. One more breath, and your scythe shifted into a white wand. You put on your game face, slightly furrowed brow and cold stare through thin slits. You shifted your wand in your hand, feeling the gentle hum of magic vibrate through your arm. You peered around the rock one last time, scoping for Lord English. He had his back turned on you.

Perfect.

When your spell was ready, the white tendrils of magic slithered over your arm and you jabbed your wand at Lord English. The perfectly aimed volley caused an explosion of light and you half expected to see your adversary knocked over, dead, blown to smithereens. You looked over your forearm and furrowed your brow even more. There was nothing there. It couldn't have been that easy.

You came out from behind the rock and cautiously made your way to the bottom of the clearing. Where had he gone? There was no trace of body parts or shreds of clothing. This spell wasn't designed to leave no trace; proof was a requirement.

You leaned down and inspected a rock, picking it up in your hand, feeling the heat from the spell. No, it wasn't warm enough to obliterate him. So where did he--

A bassline hum sounded behind you.

Fuck.

Your eyes widened with fear and you turned to look over your shoulder, the green monstrosity's kneecaps only several inches from your face. You threw a quick uncharged spell at him and dove to the side to put distance between you. The spell distracted him long enough for you to back away, and you threw more quick spells directly to his face, hoping maybe to dislodge one of the disturbing pool balls from his eye sockets. He merely ate them all and stomped after you as you desperately ran for your life.

You tried to run behind a fairly large boulder, hoping he wouldn't be able to destroy it. He merely sucked in a lung full of air and unleashed a white-hot beam from his gaping maw, and you felt the rock heat up on your side and immediately scrambled for another hideaway before the boulder exploded.

You made a run for it across the grotto, followed by short bursts of energy at your heels, slowing down only to slide on your side boots first and crawl through one of the carved out holes in the wall. There was a few feet of drop, and you dashed toward one of the main openings to the grotto--but Lord English beat you there, looming in the pathway. You skidded to a halt and ran back into the network of crevices, hoping he wouldn't fit enough to follow you.

Lord English was relentless. He tore down the natural pillars effortlessly with his monstrous fists, flinging rubble into your eyes. You shielded yourself from it with your forearms and ducked away from him further back down the pathway, past the opening he blocked, and around a corner. You got on your stomach and backed yourself away as far as you could into a thin crevice only you could fit in, making damn well certain your cloak wasn't sticking out. You silently prayed he wouldn't find you here as you covered your mouth to silence your hoarse breathing.

He followed you into the other grotto, stomping around and smashing things to dust, growling in frustration when he couldn't find you. A few minutes passed, and each time Lord English got closer to you, your heartbeat threatened to blow your cover and you stopped breathing. Then, silence. You figured he had lost trace of you, and rested your head against the cold rock in momentary relief.

The dust kicked up by the destroyed rocks billowed up into the crevice and you felt your sinuses tingle. _No, fuck no,_ you thought. You, Cronus Ampora, would not have your cover blown by a godforsaken sneeze.

Whether you willed it or not, the sneeze was coming. The only thing you could do is muffle it with the pit of your elbow, and you'd better do it quick and hope for the best. You restrained it as much as you could and covered your nose just in time, letting out a small, audible squeak.

You heard the pebbles on the ground shift with a low growl. Lord English had heard it. You were fucked.

A grunt and a punch rendered your hiding spot to rubble, and you felt free space by your feet. You tried to scoot on your belly out of the crevice. As soon as you had a foot out, you felt a clawed hand grip it, and you froze.

A sickening crunch and a high pitched wail. His grip deliberately crushed your ankle and your pained howls resounded helplessly through the grotto. He pulled you out violently by your foot, and you quickly hid your wand under your sleeve. You were dangling upside down and whimpering in pain and fear as you were forced to eye level with Lord English. The blood rushed to your head, disorienting you, but made you no less fearful of the crazy eyes and the single golden snaggle tooth adorning a gruesome smile.

He threw you across the grotto like a child with a tantrum does to a toy. You yelled hit the floor and tumbled head over heels, cracking your head against the wall. Your head buzzed and rang like tiny wind chimes and stars scattered about your vision, clearing just enough for you to see Lord English approaching you again. You tried getting up; he kicked you hard in the side and you felt a few ribs fracture. You coughed and wheezed as he picked you up by the hood of your cloak and dragged you toward the main section of the grotto.

You were in too much pain and your vision too foggy to resist being dragged through the rubble and up the jagged steps to the clearing. There, he dropped your limp form before him. You lay on your left arm with your broken ankle bent painfully outward. You may have been in a lot of pain, but you weren't done just yet.

Lord English looked down on you and kicked you again in the back. You cried out and groaned, writhing on the ground. You weighed your options; they were limited, and you were very well about to be finished right here and now if you didn't do something.

At the very least, you could bank on hope.

You slowly maneuvered your wand out of your sleeve, waiting for Lord English to step just a little bit closer...

In one swift movement you simultaneously kicked out your injured leg, hard, and shifted your wand back to the scythe. You pressed the small runes engraved in the scythe's shaft and at that moment your leg connected with Lord English's peg leg. He couldn't pop from place to place anymore. Not while the space-time lock spell (one of Saturn's many tricks) was in place.

You whirled your legs over your head and you were on your feet, wobbling slightly but supported by the scythe. It glimmered even in the minimal ambient light as you raised it over your head and aimed directly for Lord English's throat.

He raised his scepter and batted away your scythe, receiving only a deep cut on a bony cheek. It squirted a little, red smears on the tip of your scythe. He sat up and jabbed his scepter at you, attempting to knock you back with its magic. The scythe protected you with a translucent barrier, and you stood in place defiantly despite your injured leg. Lord English stood up, maintaining the barrier and appearing pissed that you, a fish brat, had tripped him as you did. He snarled and walked toward you, forcing you to back away to a wall. You knew your next move would be risky, but victory was worth fighting through the pain.

You waited until the wall was close enough, then ran the short distance to it and dashed the rocks until you were high above him. A leap of faith and raised scythe glowing bright magic brought you down hard on the green monster, and you knocked him back, scarred him, the scepter askew. Red blood dripped from the diagonal gash in Lord English's chest. You ran and leaped one more time, hoping this would be the final blow.

Your scythe stopped just short of Lord English's neck as he swiftly raised his thick shin into your groin. You swore your pelvis had fractured, you were in so much pain. You collapsed to your knees, the wind firmly knocked out of you. Lord English sat up again and cracked your jaw with a solid left hook, and you lay on the ground, spitting blood and back teeth. Tears welled in your eyes and spilled as you sobbed and violet strings dribble from your mouth. You reached for your scythe with your right arm. You felt a foot on that shoulder, the weight pinning you to the ground. It raised ever so slightly, and then all of Lord English's weight came down on that shoulder, dislocating it and crushing the bones.

You screamed. A blood-curdling, horrid scream, interrupted by choking from the blood running into your windpipe. These were not the dignified screams of a dying hero; they were the wails of a scared child who desperately wished they were with their lusus, wrapped in a blanket and coddled and protected from harsh realities.

And the harsh reality, now clear to you, is thus; you were never meant to win this fight.

Blood flowed from the open wounds in your broken shoulder. You didn't have much time, but it was time enough. Time for one last try. After all, you were going to be victorious, right? You still had to believe in last chances even if it now seems foolish, right? Isn't that what hope is all about?

Better to go out with a bang, than a whimper.

You rose to your feet, slowly, gingerly. You were sore all over, and at this point, would embrace death should he knock. The game did call Lord English the Angel of Double Death...clearly, this is what was meant to happen. You were meant to die here, or wherever else you may have been otherwise, by his hand. Ignorance and youth had tainted your foresight, and now? The bell was tolling.

But for all your ignorance, for all your arrogance, for all of the foolish things you've done leading up to this point; you would never lose hope.

You stood, straightened your jacket as best you could with your uninjured arm, brushed it off...and held out your scythe. It transformed back into the white wand. You closed your eyes and waited for the magic--the hope--to build. It started in your arm, then your torso, then extended to your extremities. You were shaking, by god you were in pain but you would not collapse if you had one more breath in you worth fighting for.

You thought back to your friends again. How wonderful it was when they validated you, when they genuinely showed interest in you, not in tearing you down. You thought of your moirail, who made you a better person. You were doing this for them.

You thought of your old friend Mituna, the good times you had before SGRUB, the joy you got from the dysfunctional but genuine contact with another person. You were doing this for him.

You thought of your lusus, your home, your life as a whole. When you compare it to now, it wasn't so bad. Because no matter how bad things seemed, you never gave up. You had hope.

You ALWAYS had hope. And you were not about to let it go.

The white magic consumed you in an aura of white and you opened your eyes, glowing bright. You aimed directly at Lord English. You thought of all the things you have to fight for, one last time.

You unleashed the hope power directly into his skull in a searing bright light, squinting through blood, sweat, and tears. The light engulfed Lord English and he howled from the stabbing pain of magic feathered swords, pool balls rattling in his skull and jaw dislocated in eldritch bellows and cherubim screeches. Your eyes glowed with hope and you stood tall, young but experienced, broken but regal. For the first time in your life, you felt like you meant something, regardless of the outcome. You were Cronus Ampora, the Bard of Hope, and your hope made your spirit invincible.

When the light faded, so did your hope. You knew that was your last shot. Anything after that would only be delaying the inevitable. You had tried; that is what mattered the most to you.

The smoke cleared only slightly, and Lord English still stood, in pain but still very much alive. The shifting eyes scowled at you, like a child who'd been wronged. He raised his scepter, and it unleashed, in kind, a lightning bolt.

The lightning bolt connected with your wand, shattering it, and ran through your entire body, the pain of white-hot needles at every nerve ending wracking your form in a split second. You dropped hard to the ground. You held a hand to your forehead, where most of the pain was. You pulled your hand away; blood. Rivers of blood welling from your head.

The familiar clack of a peg leg on rock. You looked up at your adversary. You couldn't even get up to defend yourself, let alone run away. It was time. And you were so very terrified of what lay beyond the veil.

Lord English's scepter morphed into a white rifle. He picked you up by your neck, and you coughed and sputtered violet onto his wrist, weakly struggling though you know there's no use. Death sent you into tremors at the mention and here he was, knocking. Here you are, at Death's door, once for the death of hopes and dreams, and twice for the price of life.

The barrel of the white rifle pressed hard against your chest, right over your racing heart. Now was the only time you would openly sob out of fear. You thought of your friends, your moirail, your home, one. Last. Time.

The gunshot blew a hole in your chest, through and through. Blood sprayed the rocks. You were dropped, like a child's toy that had run it's course. He left you there and disappeared without further action.

Blood gushed from your wounds, but notably your heart. You watched it gush from your chest as you lay on your side, slowly rolling to your back as Death's fingers crept from the corners of your vision. Thin slits became half-lidded black holes. Broken jaw bones slacked, displaying the old glory of ivory fangs.

Death dressed you in the tattered rags of a hero to be; the child, turned to man.


End file.
